A slight change of plans
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are sent on assignment to a South American country. Originally posted for the Song Story Challenge on section7mfu, Live Journal. The you-tube video of "Fly like an Eagle" by the Steve Miller band was the prompt. Pre-saga.


Everything was a mess. It was as simple as that. From the moment the two U.N.C.L.E. agents stepped off their plane things had gone wrong.

"Where is the damned contact," Illya growled under his breath; tugging at his shirt collar; the stifling South American heat irritating him. His tie had made an exit as soon as they stepped foot in the terminal. Next came his suit jacket; thankfully he had the forethought to wear a holster at his waist, hidden beneath his shirt now soaked with sweata. Finally he rolled up his sleeves and was fanning himself with a magazine.

"Heat getting to you already tovarisch," Napoleon tried not to smile."You know buddy, he's only five minutes late."

"Five minutes, feels more like five hours," the Russian grumbled.

"Look, be patient and just keep your shirt on, and I mean that not only physically but metaphorically. I'm sure he'll be here soon." Napoleon recrossed his legs; he wasn't showing a bit of perspiration and looked as cool as a cucumber.

"I will be patient once we are done with our assignment in this...'_otverstiye ada'_ and are once more onboard our climate controlled jet headed back to New York where there is still snow on the ground."

"Well I'm in agreement with you on one thing, this place is certainly a _'hell hole._" Napoleon stood, stretching his arms above his head, discreetly looking about.

The terminal appeared more like a barnyard than an airport with people walking around carrying cages filled with chickens, ducks...what were those?" Napoleon snapped his fingers.

"Guinea pigs. They are raised for food here," Illya answered Napoleon's questioning thoughts.

"Noooo, really? They're pets. My sister had one when she was little...though I detested the little rodent." Napoleon sniffed the air.

"My friend, not all animals are strictly pets...it is you Americans who seem to want to think that way. As you recall in parts of China, dog is considered a delicacy."

"What about cat," Solo snickered.

"Napoleon, I am not engaging you in a battle of one-upmanship. I am too hot."

"Suit yourself, it was you, may I remind you, who started the conversation in the first place.

That elicited another growl from the Russian.

They continued to wait and watch as a few of the chickens laid eggs and those rolled out of their cages and cracked on the floor, leaving a sticky mess. Solo did a double-take when a saw a man leading a donkey through the passenger waiting room and outside to the street.

Of course the creature had to leave several steaming 'deposits' in its wake.

.

Ten minutes passed, fifteen...thirty, and finally the contact was an hour late.

"I think it is safe to assume he is not showing," Illya crinkled his nose. "So where do we go from here?"

Napoleon raised his eyebrows, "Only one place that I can think of partner mine, and that's the estate of Generalisimo Valdez."

Illya scowled his response. "Fine may we go then? Perhaps the taxi at least might have air condioning."

"Patience chum, patience." Napoleon calmly led the way out to the street after they'd put their passports, and travel documents, and literally the keys to the plane in a secure locker. Something told the Russian to do that, and he insisted upon it, though the American gave no protest. He was accustomed to these little gut instincts on Illya's part and just learned to go along with them.

There was only once taxi waiting curbside, and like the airport, it had seen better days. Napoleon couldn't help but chuckle at Kuryakins reaction upon seeing their only mode of transportation.

The Russian's bubble was burst in hoping for air conditioning, as the cab was not only minus that, but it's passenger doors as well.

"So there you go tovarisch, it's sort of air conditioned," Napoleon smiled, trying to cheer up his partner, but Illya's mood had already worsened to one of more growls and grunts.

_"¿Sabes como llegar a la casa del General Valdez_do you know how to get to the house of General Valdez?"_ Illya spoke to the driver in Spanish.

_"Sí, señor, pero no es un lugar seguro a donde ir. ¿Seguro que es donde usted quiere_Yes sir, but it is not a safe place to go to. Are you sure that is where you want?"_

_"Definitivamente y rápidamente por favor_definitely and quickly please,_" Solo chimed in.

As they passed through the countryside, poverty on a monumental scale and accompanying corruption became evident. There were soldiers everywhere, bullying and terrorizing the populace. Mothers with hungry babies who didn't have enough to eat, shoeless children, people living on the streets like human detrius...this was the Generalisimo's revolution?

"Perhaps it's time for another revolution," Napoleon spoke out loud. "Something is just not right here." That was the conclusion he reached when the taxi approached the lavish estate belonging to Emilio Valdez.

"You have a solution to this travesty?" Illya chimed in."Keep in mind it is not the reason we were sent here."

Napoleon Solo flashed a smile. He obviously had something up his sleeve...

Twenty-four hours later the two U.N.C.L.E. agents had not only managed the assassination of General Valdez and incarceratered his chronies, but helped a fledgling government to its precarious beginnings.

.

Kuryakin was quiet, seemingly contemplative as they headed back to the airport in that uniquely un-airconditoned taxi.

After paying the driver, they walked through the airport, dodgeing a runaway donkey as they retrieved their things from the locker and headed to the U.N.C.L.E. jet; Illya finally spoke up after they boarded, as he'd been painfully silent since he shot the Generalismo right through the head with a single round from his carbine.

"Mr. Waverly is not going to be pleased. Here we were sent to prevent the man from being assassinated and now we have become the assassins…"

"What do you mean 'we'... kemo-sa-be?"

Illya's head snapped to attention. "Seriously, you are going to lay the blame on me? It was your plan we followed."

"No, just yanking your chain chum. Take it easy. I think given the circumstances, we were justifed in our course of action. Obviously the General had everyone fooled, including Mr. Waverly, as to the quality of his leadership and his regime."

"Then why have you not contacted Mr. Waverly to inform him of the slight change in plans."

"You forget, we lost our communicators, besides I haven't quite figured out how to tell him what we did."

"Good thing you have switched back to the collective 'we'...because I was thinking for a second, I would be winging my way alone in the Learjet and would have been waving at you from the cockpit as I prepared to fly home, leaving you stuck in this accursed place to find your own way back. By the way," Kuryakin offered the radio mic," you could speak to Mr. Waverly now if you like."

"Oh low blow Illya, low blow on both counts."

"Tit for tat...kemo-sa-be." Illya parroted back the American's term of endearment. This one at least he understood as Napoleon had made him watch a few episodes of the 'Lone Ranger.'

"You really would have abandoned me here tovarisch?" Napoleon's handsomely chisled features took on a childlike quality, including a pouting lower lip… similar to the look the Russian often flashed when wanting sympathy.

"Do not try that on me my friend. I was the one who patented that countenance if you recall. And as to the question of you being left here, that is for you to figure out." Illya cocked an eyebrow, leaving his partner in limbo on that one. "Now sit in the copilot seat and help me do the preflight check."

Napoleon chuckled, having already come to the conclusion that his partner would never leave him behind for revenge...well at least not this far away from home."Hey, by the way stinky...you could use a shower and a change of clothes." It was a real dig though, knowing neither of them brought extra clothing with them."

"And Napoleon, may I remind you are in need of yet another new suit," Illya jabbed back, looking at his partner's clothing that was torn and dirty, but still with no signs of perspiration.

"Smart Russian..."

.

Once everything was in readiness, Agent Kuryakin radioed the tower.

_"Este es Águila Delta Foxtrot 7, listo para despegar_this is Eagle Delta Foxtrot 7 ready for take off." ._

_"Tiene permiso para el despegue EDF 7. Que tengas un buen vuelo_permission granted EDF 7. Have a good flight,_" the controller responded.

The Learjet taxied down the runway, picking up speed as Illya raised the aircraft's nose, bringing it airborn in seconds…indeed, flying into the future; slipping into their next assignment that was, no doubt, awaiting them when they returned to New York.

That was after Napoleon explained things to Mr. Waverly...


End file.
